Possible Futures
by Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod
Summary: ... or, Five Things That Never Happened To Lirael Goldenhand. How Lirael killed herself aged fourteen, gained a chance to find her identity, acquired the Sight, was murdered by the Stilken and met Prince Sameth's best friend. Eventual Lirael/Nick.


**A/N:** Re-reading Lirael tends to rekindle one's love for Lirael/Nick (I was never big on Lirael/Sam, _especially_ not when she turned out to be his aunt.) It also set me going on some what-if situations. Please _**read and review!**_

**Disclaimer:** It should be fairly obvious that I'm not Garth Nix. Just to be quite certain- I'm not, okay? So I claim nothing.

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**1.**

The girl, wrapped up securely in copious amounts of cold-weather clothing, stepped out into the fresh air. She trudged across the crisp snow, breaking the thin icy crust. The sky was cloudless and blue; the air was very cold, sharp in her throat, and the girl's breath puffed out in small clouds that dissipated on the breeze.

The girl's name was Lirael, and she wandered over the area religiously cleared that morning by a few Paperwing pilots who had then hurried back inside the hangar trading acid remarks on the freezing weather and not giving a thought to young Clayr who might be skiving off Annisele's Awakening. She paused in the middle of the well-swept landing strip, and then meandered casually over to the edge of the cliff.

Lirael looked down at the sharp rocks covered in ice beneath, and pondered her demise on those rocks. The rocks were not a very nice sight, and the ponderings were not very nice thoughts, so she looked up into the sky, hoping for salvation, and saw- a blot.

Well, no. It looked like a blot at first, but as it came closer she could tell that it was a Paperwing, a red and gold one. Red and gold were the colours of the Royal house, and the Paperwing would carry a pilot, an onlooker to drag her back from the edge like an errant toddler and deliver her into Aunt Kirrith's scolding, uncomprehending arms.

If she were to do it, then she would have to do it now. And quickly.

Lirael closed her eyes and leapt.

**2.**

"Kirrith, it's no good _moaning_, I'm _leaving_!"

The thus-addressed Kirrith, who was the same height as her impatient sister but had threads of silver in her blonde hair, scowled at Arielle. "What about your daughter? You should not be in such a hurry to leave her behind."

"It's for the best, Kirrith. I have Seen." Arielle hesitated, and glanced at Lirael, ignoring her sister's grumble that yes, she _knew_ that, and would Arielle care to share the contents of her vision with Kirrith? The child, barely more than a baby in her mother's eyes, lay sleeping on a cot-bed nearby. Arielle had tucked her in herself, smoothing the child's dark hair behind her ears and kissing her goodnight and goodbye.

Arielle turned back to Kirrith and seized her sister's hands tightly. "Kiri, promise me, if anything happens to me you'll take Lirael to the palace in Belisaere."

"What? Why?" Kirrith said, startled. "The palace?" Arielle hushed her hastily with a finger on her lips.

"Yes. The palace. She has kin there."

"But who?" Kirrith wailed as quietly as possible. "Ari, I wish you would not put on these airs of mystery! I can understand a little theatricality on occasion, but-"

"Shut up, Kiri," Arielle said affectionately, hugging her sister tightly. "You'll know when you get there. Just take her there, if anything happens to me. Once you get there, you'll know. You'll see her sister... It'll be obvious. They both take very much after their father. Good_bye_, Kiri."

**3.**

Lirael's eyes fluttered open, and she stared peacefully at the ceiling, preparatory to getting up. A few moments later, she roused herself decisively from bed, flinging off the covers, reaching for half-shoes, stripping off her nightgown and replacing it with suitable clothing, then fetching her waistcoat from its hook on the back of the door. Dressed, she padded over to the ewer and basin she had quietly abstracted from the bathrooms and poured some water into the basin, muttering the Charter marks necessary to warm it. She was due for a very early shift at the library, and there wasn't going to be time to bathe, but she could at least wash her face.

She dipped her hands in the water and splashed it onto her face, closing her eyes as she scrubbed her face with her hands, and then she opened her eyes and went to dry her face and hands.

For a moment, she looked back into the basin.

_A young man, perhaps four or five years older than she was now, with floppy blonde hair and a triumphant smile, crossed the Wall and stopped briefly, staring out at the Borderlands. "I've always wondered what the Old Kingdom's like, you know," he announced to his friend, a more solidly built young man with curly dark hair and grey eyes._

_"Now's your chance to find out," replied the man with the curly dark hair._

Lirael reeled and clutched at her wardrobe, which came down with a great crash beside her, spilling clothes everywhere. She sat up dazedly, a hand to her head, and a very silly smile on her face.

"Know one, know many. The Nine Day Watch with great gladness announce that the Gift of Sight has Awoken in our sister Lirael."

**4.**

Lirael tripped over something in the field of poppies, and screamed; she rolled over and tried to see where the Stilken was. It was close behind her, and she scrabbled desperately backwards, but she was too slow and too late, the glass in her feet hindering her flight, and the Stilken reached out for her with its hands like hooks, its silver eyes staring blindly down at her, and Lirael screamed, screamed again, blew her whistle, threw her mouse over her shoulder and screeched the opening mark, tried to formulate a spell in her mind to make it go away- but nothing would either save her, or bring other librarians to do so.

Abruptly, Lirael's cries fell silent, and blood leaked into the red poppy field, more blood than Lirael herself would have believed she possessed.

Some even leaked down far enough to touch the little stone statuette of a dog in her pocket.

**5.**

Lirael disapproved of mice in the Library, and over the years she had worked there had come to keep a bow handy at all times with which to shoot the little blighters. Now, as she was just shinning down a ladder with a book in hand, she spotted one- right out in the open, with a piece of paper in its paws, no less! –shinned down a little faster, put down the book, picked up the bow, nocked an arrow and shot the mouse.

"I say!"

The delighted exclamation, with its unfamiliar accent, made Lirael look up, startled.

A young man was bearing down on her, she observed, startled. He had blond hair that flopped into his face a bit, blue eyes, an infectious smile and no Charter mark, which was odd. He had a pair of spectacles clutched in one hand, but appeared to see well without them, so they must have been reading glasses, and he was taller than she was, which disconcerted Lirael, as she was used to being among the tallest. "So it's you who's the Dread Rat-Killer of Doom!"

Lirael, stunned, pointed out feebly that it was a mouse.

Nicholas Sayre flapped a dismissive hand, still beaming. "Rat, mouse, same thing. More or less, that is. Anyway, I saw your work yesterday. I was quietly beavering away with Sam at some research, you know, fascinating place this library of yours, and suddenly this arrow zips out from among the towering bookshelves and skewers a mouse. So I mention this to Sam, because books don't shoot, you see (mostly speaking, I wouldn't vouch for the innocence of some of your volumes here) and he says, it must be one of the librarians... only most of the librarians don't carry anything more offensive than a penknife, so I wondered who the archer was, and now I've found out!" He beamed at her again, as if expecting applause.

Lirael, reeling from the onslaught, attempted to claw her way back to normal topics of conversation. "... Who are you?"

Nick slapped his forehead theatrically and stuck out a hand for Lirael to shake. "Sorry! That's me, I'm afraid. Always babbling on, always forgetting the important bits. I'm Nicholas Sayre, usually known as Nick... You shake it," he added helpfully as Lirael stared at his hand, puzzled.

"All right," Lirael said, still bemused but willing to go along with him, and reached out and gently took hold of his fingers and shook them.

Nick laughed, but not scornfully. "Not usually like that." He reached out and grasped Lirael's hand firmly; he had a strong grip. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, tentatively.

"I'm Lirael," she told him, still shy but unable to remain so forever in the face of such unshakable friendliness.

"Lirael," Nick repeated. "That's a pretty name. It sounds like it should be music."

Lirael went pink, and bowed her head to hide behind her dark hair while mumbling something incoherent and inaudible. But apparently Nicholas Sayre had other ideas; he pushed her hair aside and tucked it behind her ear, smiling again, but a calmer smile this time, more reassuring. "No, really. Honestly. Word of a Sayre. It's a very pretty name to match a very pretty person. Come out from behind the curtain, my lady, I have a confession to make."

"Confession?" Lirael asked, lifting her head.

The Ancelstierran grinned confidingly. "Before I spotted you taking a pot-shot at the mouse, I was rather lost. I don't suppose you could help me find my way back to the Reading Room?"


End file.
